


Royal Flush

by Alex Horne is a Very Good Boy (sir)



Category: British Comedy RPF, Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Body Hair, Clothed male/naked male, Forced Orgasm, Groping, Humiliation, M/M, Obedience, Pubic Hair, Public Humiliation, Small Penis, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 08:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir/pseuds/Alex%20Horne%20is%20a%20Very%20Good%20Boy
Summary: It's Greg's poker night. Alex prefers being the entertainment.





	Royal Flush

It was a little after midnight when the door to Greg's bedroom creaked open. Alex tugged his oversized red _Snoopy_ jumper further over his hands and ran pale fingers against the grain of his beard, a fiery red that had somewhat cooled over the last decade into a dignified grey in patches. He crept into the kitchen, avoiding the bright light in the living room and raucous laughter as he flicked on the kettle.

"Is that you, Alex?" A voice called from inside. A few seconds later, Alex emerged from the black, gripping the archway as he peaked his head in. The light was blinding after sitting in the darkness for so long, curled up in heavily scented sheets watching bird documentaries. Greg's side of the bed.

"Just making a cup of tea, Greg." Alex replied, feeling himself bob up and down on the pads of his feet to punctuate the response. Making matters worse was the soft fog of cigar smoke that permeated this section of the house but Alex still sheepishly waved to the hazy figures around the poker table, squinting as his eyes got used to the glare. Joe Wilkinson, Al Murray, Bob Mortimer, Rhod Gilbert and David Baddiel, by the looks of things.

"There he is, out of his hovel. Finally deigned to grace us with your presence?" said a gentleman at the table curling cards inwards.

"Sorry, Rhod. Thought I'd leave you all to it."

"Not a poker man, are you Alex?" chimed the man opposite Greg. Bob Mortimer, one of the cigar smokers.

"No sir." Alex replied politely.

"No, he'd much rather watch telly and scoff all my sweets." said Greg, reaching for freshly dealt cards.

"I wasn't eating your sweets." Alex lied, averting his gaze and shifting his weight to the other foot.

"Come here."

"I don't- I, erm, I'm not wearing much." Alex's protest was met with a tilted head and a furrowed brow. "Right, no. I'll- yes."

Gripping the cuffs of his jumper, Alex glided in on tip-toes, determined to spend as little time on beer-soaked carpeting as possible. Greg shifted, parting his legs and tapping the wood seat of the kitchen chair he was sitting on, signalling Alex to take his usual spot, which Alex was all too happy to oblige.

With a boyish grin, Al turned in his chair and reclined back to watch Alex's delicate descent.

"Look at those legs." He laughed, wolf whistling. Alex felt a little flustered, gathering his feet up under him and tugging his baggy jumper over himself for as much modesty as he could afford.

Then he _melted_ into Greg, placing one hand on Greg's solid belly and pinking slightly as he buried his head into that strong, musky neck. He hated feeling everyone's eyes on him, especially in his state of undress. It made him feel self-conscious. The warmth radiating from the big man beside him, however, was extremely comforting. At least until one meaty hand gripped his chin and tipped his head upwards.

"Tongue out."

Alex hesitated but complied and stuck his blue tongue out.

"You were eating my sweets, you little liar." Greg said sternly, though a smile crept onto his scruffy, unshaven face. Alex had to tilt his head the entire way up to make eye contact and those soulful little blue puppy dog eyes met Greg. He didn't seek trouble, not exactly, but finding yourself on the end of a Davies death glare went a weird little tingle through his body that both scared and delighted him, especially with one big hand on his thigh and the other on the back of his neck, effectively pinning him to Greg's broad, warm body.

"Greg, you in?" Bob asked.

"Yeah, fuck it. I'll raise."

Alex wasn't entirely familiar on the rules of poker, Greg seemed to have the smallest pile of little plastic chips and a modicum of critical thinking had brought him to the conclusion that his partner wasn't performing so well. He let out a grunt of frustration as he folded, passing the last of his chips to Joe. Greg sat back with a sigh, his hand moving to cradle Alex's ass and his middle finger idly pressing the fabric of his underwear inwards as he grazed the length of Alex's crack. Alex's eyes darted to Al, who seemed enamoured by this action and making no attempt to hide his voyeurism. Alex looked away, demurely pulling his sweater down over his thighs prompting a wicked grin from Al.

"What about you, Greg?"

"I've got fuck-all left, mate. You've cleaned me out."

"Thank fuck, someone else in the loser's circle." David laughed.

"I'll play for Alex's underwear." Al said suddenly, causing a moment of silence at the table, "If everyone else is down. Joe?"

Greg licked his lips, glancing down at Alex who stiffened slightly against him. He tugged the fabric that he had previously worked into Alex's crack and ran his thumb and forefinger across the sweaty, thin fabric. They were a cheap pair of panties, nothing special, but Al likely wasn't seeking fine craftsmanship.

Joe mirrored Al's grin, "I'll play for a pair of smelly knickers, mate, you know me. Don't even have to ask."

"Go on then. Up you get and pop your pants off." Greg said in a cheerful tone.

Alex got up and looked at Greg. Greg returned the look with a shrug that said _sorry, it's out of my hands_. Using one hand to keep his jumped pulled down, Alex nudged his underwear over his thighs and shimmied them off before setting them in the middle of the table. The men reached for the underwear, stretching it between their hands and holding it up to their noses, giggling at the pastel pink colour and little heart prints, glancing questioningly at Alex over every little stain.

"Can I sit down now, Greg?" Alex asked, holding his crotch and shivering a little in part due to his lack of underwear and otherwise missing the furnace-like body heat from Greg's solid form.

"Nope." Greg replied nonchalantly, focused on his hand.

"I'm dying for a piss, lads." Al murmured to the table.

"So how the fuck do I raise?" Greg asked, looking up quizzically from his cards.

"I wouldn't mind having a little play with Alex's bum." Bob piped up over the chatter, bringing two fingers apart into a peace sign, "Nice spread arse for the winner?"

"Sorry, what?" Alex said, a hint of panic in his voice as he made eye contact with the men. Maybe he heard incorrectly.

"Yeah, go on then." Greg replied indifferently. "Three of a kind."

"Straight flush." Bob said with a grin, then met Alex's doe-eyed expression. Greg simply tapped Alex's thigh and nodded towards Bob. Swallowing hard, Alex shuffled to the other end of the table and turned away, allowing Bob's rough hands to move up his milky thighs and expose his arse for the table. Alex felt his face heat up as he pulled his jumper over his crotch, finding a spot on the ceiling to stare at as the comments rolled in.

"He's pale, isn't he?"

"Quite cute for a bloke."

"Spread his arse then, Bob."

A jeer went up from the table as Bob's calloused hands gripped soft white cheeks to spread Alex open.

"That's where he was hiding all the hair!"

"Can't even see his hole."

"Fuzzy little ginger cunt."

"It's all pink and wet in here Alex, isn't it?"

Alex felt more fingers pressing inside to rub up and down his crack, with seemingly nobody concerned about breaking the rules of the prize. He grunted and pushed up on his tip-toes as he felt someone's nose bury in for a deep inhale. Then the fingers returned, pressing far enough in to open him up and prompting a worried "aa-ah" from Alex.

"How does he smell, Joe?"

"Went right to my cock, mate. Lovely."

"You don't keep him waxed, Greg?"

"He's fine the way he is. Come on. Off." Greg said sternly, dealing cards out. "Thank them for the compliments, Alex."

"Thank you." 

The next round was terrible for everyone, but Al managed to squeak by with a high card.

"Shit, did I offer anything up that round?" Greg asked.

"Don't think so." David replied, scooping up the chips on his corner of the table to pass to Al who received them gratefully with one arcing arm swipe.

"Actually, that's fine, I have a request. I was dying for a piss and then everyone was poking at Alex's bum and I didn't want to miss it, so, uh..." Al pulled his other hand from below the poker table, setting an almost full pint glass of deep yellow piss onto the table.

"That's where the fucking smell was coming from." Rhod said through laughter.

"Give it a wash for me, love. I'll take another pint when you're ready." Al said, pushing the glass over towards Alex, who covered his nose with a sleeve and took it into his free hand.

"It's warm." Alex said with disgust and began carefully making his way out of the room, keeping the glass as far from his nose as possible.

"Actually, Alex," Greg said, crossing his legs, "I think I'd like you to drink it."

Alex stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder.

"Drink it, Greg?"

"I don't want Al Murray's rancid piss ruining my nice sink, do I?"

"You'd prefer it in my stomach."

"I'd love that, Alex. Yum yum." Greg said, smacking his lips and rubbing his belly in mock hunger.

"Right." Alex replied, his stoic face cracking slightly as he took a few false starts toward the murky glass. Finally he threw his head back, his entire face scrunching up with brows furrowed as the foul liquid began to drain.

"That is vile." Bob winced, holding up his panty-wrapped hand to the side of his face to barricade the sight.

Alex belched, low and wet as he showed the empty glass for Greg and Al's approval, then shuffled off into the kitchen to wash the dishes to a chorus of proud laughter. His hand shot back to cover his mouth, preventing whatever fluid wanted to come up with the belch. With a groan, Alex pushed his head under the cold tap, bracing in the cool stream until his eyes focused and his stomach settled enough to return to service. He collected a tray along with a six pack of beer, pressing the icy cans to his chest before pouring Al a fresh drink.

"There you are, Alex. You'll be pleased to know I've won a few rounds in your absence." Greg said, rolling a plastic chip between his fingers.

"Oh," replied Alex, slight disappointment in his tone, "should I go?"

"You can sit in my lap and be my little butler if you like." Greg smiled.

It was difficult to gauge Alex's enjoyment in being humiliated, neutral as he was, but every so often he'd slip and _ask for it_ with those pleading blue eyes of his. Alex had no desire to be one of the boys, he was happy to watch Greg's charisma draw others like it had drawn him in. He wasn't a winner or a leader like Greg, but he was fulfilled simply having the privilege of curling up on Greg's feet at night. The disparity of this cold, distant Greg that he had to utterly debase himself to impress and the warm embrace of this titan of a man who seemed utterly obsessed with him - constantly putting his hands all over Alex, unable to hold off kissing him in interviews. The man who didn't let Alex get out of bed in the morning because a moment where their skin wasn't touching was a moment not worth living.

Alex shifted onto Greg's lap with stars in his eyes, looking up with a goofy, gap-toothed grin.

"Unprofessional dress for a butler, don't you think?" Bob asked.

Joe nodded, removing the already loosened bow tie from his collar and tossing it across the table.

"Take your jumper off and try this on."

Alex held in the silky red fabric in his fingers.

"Are you nervous Alex? You just let us play with your arse." David asked, smiling.

"You don't want to show your little body to them do you? Why's that?" Even Greg's soft-spoken tone had a harshness to it that demanded compliance. Especially when he was nose-to-nose with Greg.

"I-um, I have a small willy." Alex replied quietly.

"Don't tell me, tell them."

"I have a small willy."

"You've a _very_ small willy, don't you?"

"Yes."

"That sounds very embarrassing. It's a teeny tiny little thing, isn't it?" Greg pressed a kiss to Alex's cheeks, now bright red and radiating heat. Greg pushed his hand under Alex's jumper, tugging off his remaining clothing. Alex's hand instinctively moved to push Greg away, but ultimately allowed it to happen.

Alex had the body one expected of a man in his forties. Perky, almost sloping nipples immediately drew the eye, flush and bright pink on almost translucent skin. His pale chest was dashed with patchy ginger hair that crept over his shoulders and blossomed into a palm-tree pattern at the top of his spine. He filled out in the middle with a slightly paunchy belly and wider thighs but the thing drawing everyone's attention was the huge, untamed and fiery red bush. Greg had banned him from any kind of trimming below the neck and took great pride in combing through the coarse hair like he was petting an animal. Somewhere in the middle of this pubic beard Alex's soft, vulnerable testicles revealed themselves but there was no sign of his cock, much to the extreme amusement of the other men at the table.

Alex squirmed uncomfortably at being so exposed, his chest flushing red as every attempt to cross his legs was pushed off by Greg.

"Now don't you worry, Alex," Greg said with a shit-eating grin pasted across his face, still combing through the hair, "we always find your little cock, don't we? Can't have gone far."

"Jesus Christ." Joe said, his face a mixture of amused and dumbfounded. Across the table Al was laughing through a coughing fit that had started to turn him scarlet. David's peeked through his hands and shook his head, smiling.

"That is genuinely the smallest cock I've ever seen, mate." Bob said.

"Now now, you haven't even seen it yet. Wait until Greg finds it." Rhod said in faux seriousness.

"Pricks." Alex muttered, staring at the ceiling with glossy eyes and attempting to work out some way to melt into the floorboards. Eventually Greg's touches - and perhaps in no small part due to the jeering - had Alex's blood flowing and a small, slick nub pushed through heavy foreskin and hair to the taunting cheers of those at the table.

Greg's slab of a hand curled around Alex's cock, taking him between a thumb and forefinger. He gently moved his finger against the underside of that sensitive head before gently tugging in a pinching motion. Alex inhaled loudly, attempting to maintain composure.

"Sensitive little thing, isn't it?" Greg commented, sucking a kiss hard enough into Alex's pale skin to leave a mark. Alex opened his mouth to speak but settled for nodding rapidly, thrusting pathetically between Greg's thick digits.

"Gorgeous boy." Greg hummed before turning his attention back to the table and scooped up his dealt cards in a free hand.

"Read 'em and weep, lads. Straight flush." Al said, reclining back in his chair.

With a self-satisfied grin on his face, Joe spread his cards onto the table.

"Full house." He simpered, reaching for the chips.

"Doesn't beat a straight flush, mate." David sighed, his cheek planted in his palm.

Beside Greg, Alex had begun breathing heavier, now squirming against Greg's touch but unable to stop the rapid jerking motion. He attempted to pull Greg's fingers, then tapped against his side gently.

"Joe, do you think a full house beats a straight flush?" Greg was incredulous.

"It does, doesn't it?"

"Greg..." Alex whispered once, then repeated himself slightly louder in a way that seemed like it was harder to control the volume of his voice. His breathing had become more ragged, chest rising and falling under Greg's grip.

"Hold on Alex. Have you not known how to play fucking poker this entire time?"

Alex's toes curled, flexing inwards and splayed outwards before gripping Greg's knees, his ass raising into the tugging that only seemed to get faster the more irritated Greg became. Alex threw his head back, squeezing his eyes and covering his mouth to prevent the whimper being wrenched from his throat. He was bright red now, beads of sweat forming on his hairline.

"I swear it's better than a flush." Joe protested, opening his phone to bring up poker rules.

"You're thinking of a regular flush. This is a straight flush." Bob interjected, clearly annoyed in his tone but grinning with amusement.

"What the fuck is a straight flush, then?"

The entire table groaned including Alex, albeit for very different reasons. Alex's bared teeth finally parted into a silent 'o' as he felt himself start to slip.

"Greg... ah... Greg!"

"Hold on, Alex! Joe, I swear to god I'm about to leap across this table at you like a fucking puma."

"What? It's not-" Joe's words were cut off by Alex's hoarse moaning. The poor boy could only watch as his tiny cock began firing off, shooting white spurts across the poker green and splattering the cards Greg was holding in front of them. Greg's sticky hand came to a stop and the whole table turned to look at Alex, who flopped back and let his head loll against his lover with a dopey, satisfied grin on his face.


End file.
